


Postictal

by lesbianettes



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Brain Damage, Grand mal seizures, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nicky can have both while his brain regrows... as a treat, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Whump, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Past EMT Nile, Petit Mal Seizures, Postictal Confusion, Reference to Merrick, Regrowing your brain isn't fun, Seizures, Traumatic Brain Injury, Whump, postictal state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: There are complications to having your brain matter blown across the ground.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 524





	Postictal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Susangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susangel/gifts).



They’ve all had a traumatic brain injury at some point. It’s just part of the job. They’ve died in messy ways, had their skulls bashed in or bullets in gray matter, leaving little behind so that they must carry on with missing pieces. Usually it heals quickly, but the brain is a complicated thing, especially so when pieces of it are left among the blood and their body struggles to put it all back together. Amnesia has been a fun consequence they’ve dealt with; somewhere around 1400, shortly before what happened to Quynh, Joe took an awful blow to the head- a beating, really- that left him missing pieces. He remembered meeting Nicky, loving him. But smaller things, like the foods they cooked together and what color the hair that grew between his thighs was, were missing for a while and had to be relearned with patience and care. That’s the sort of thing they’re used to dealing with. 

There was one time, back in the twenties, when Booker had a bad one. They got involved in a turf war with this organized crime organization or that, and he wound up three point blank shots into his face, leaving his brain behind on the floor and spinal fluid dripping out his ears. Of course they brought him to safety, and took care of him, but it had been rough while his brain tried to knit itself back together and find the safe connections it was used to. He had a few seizures. Andy thought it was like demonic possession, should she believe in such a thing, and didn’t know what to do. Nicky and Joe tried holding him down. That only hurt him more, his body jerking uncontrollably. He was disoriented after, often for hours. Unfortunately, he had these fits often enough that they learned how to deal with them. And should it happen again, they could handle it. The fits became named somewhere along the sixties, called seizures. Nicky had one, when he overdosed on a hot shot in the dark lights of a club, and they had to get him to safety before someone called the paramedics. 

It crosses Joe’s mind, when they leave Merrick, that there will be consequences. He had to comb his hands through Nicky’s hair while they rode down the elevator after it was over, leaving pieces of him to fall to the floor with a wet sound, and kissed his blood and sweat soaked forehead tenderly to keep him calm. It had seemed then that they got off alright. Nicky knew who they all were, he was functioning, he was smiling at Nile as he pulled her from the wreckage of the car. It was all fine. Everything would get better, even as they had to deal with the betrayal given to them by somebody they were intended to trust with every part of themselves. Booker’s choices hurt nearly as bad as seeing Nicky lie there, still, in the pool of his own body. 

He should have known. He should have thought it through. And yet, he utterly failed to take into account that brains, minds, are strange and complicated things, and sometimes don’t show their wounds until later in the game. As they wash clean, Nicky gets a little vacant behind the eyes. Lost. His hands shake. Joe assumes it is a traumatic response, as they’ve played this game before, and simply continues to scrub him clean with generic, unscented soap as a way to remove all they went through. It’s fine. It’s alright. He should have thought more of it, though, asked if Nicky was okay instead of kissing his cheek and waiting for him to come back, as he’s done a thousand times before. 

It happens again in the bar, while they decide what to do with the pain. What retribution lies ahead of them, what to do that won’t unjustly hurt Booker because as much anguish as he’s caused them, at the end of the day, they still don’t want him dead, and they understand that this came from a place of his own desperation to cope with, or rather end, all that he’s been through in his two hundred odd years on Earth. Nile says just an apology would suffice, but she is new. She has not spent so much time trusting Booker, looking after him, being taken care of by him just the same. They’re debating it, Joe, Nile and Andy, while Nicky mostly stares at the table and pretends not to hear them. At least, that was the assumption. Joe touches his arm to get his attention and still, Nicky doesn’t say a word.

“Nicolo,” he says gently. “We’re safe, my love. Can you hear me?”

He presses his hand to Nicky’s chest, to feel his heartbeat and figure out what to do next. That’s when he notices the tight convulsions of his chest, struggling for air silently. Joe looks to Andy, pleading for an answer, but she has nothing to say, no way to help. He rubs at Nicky’s chest gently, hoping to ease whatever pain is crushing his lungs, when it gets worse. His eyes roll back and then his body slumps forward. The sound when his head hits the table hurts, and then his body is on its way to the floor, Joe barely managing to catch him. 

“Andy!” he cries, cradling Nicky. There’s a little blood from the way his forehead caught the lip of the table, the injury not healing. It must be whatever has him in one of these fits. It’s not as violent or aggressive as Booker’s had been, nor the way he was in the night club so long ago. The tremors are smaller, but he’s still choking on his own spit, his chest heaving desperately in an offbeat rhythm. “Andy, Nile!”

“Right here,” Andy says on his left.

Nile tries to take Nicky from him and Joe instinctively holds tighter, but she shakes her head and holds out her open palms. “It’s okay. I have my EMT certification from before I served, Joe. He’s having a seizure. I’m gonna turn him on his side so he doesn’t suffocate, okay?”

This time, he allows Nile to take Nicky from him and turn him gently onto his side, foam spilling from his mouth. Some of it bloody. But still, Nile holds him gently in place, allowing for his muscle spasms no matter how much it hurts to see him this way. Nile checks her watch at some point. It feels like an eternity passes, watching his Nicky this way, before the fit begins to subside. Then he’s still. Nile wipes the blood from his face to see the cut mostly healed, a good enough sign. 

“Joe.”

He looks up at Andy, knows he has to say it. He has to relive that awful moment in the smoke leftover from those monsters blowing up the wall, kneeling in Nicky’s blood and not knowing if he would wake up, terrified of a life in which he must go on without him. There aren’t words enough in any language to describe that kind of pure fear, nor the relief that coursed through him when Nicky gasped back to life and reached for him like he was the only thing that mattered. 

“Merrick’s henchman, Keane. He shot Nicky. He- he put the gun in his mouth.”

No one makes him say any more. Andy understands, and passes it off to Nile with a single look. At that, Nile goes outside, and through the window, her silhouette leans in tight to Booker, likely filling him in. Telling him what happened because it’s Booker who hurt him, Booker who is responsible, at least partially, for the scared and confused sound Nicky makes when he blinks his eyes open and scans the area for Joe. 

“I’m here,” he reassures, and offers his hand. “It’s okay. We’re safe, you’re safe, I’m here.”

Nicky sits up slowly, looking around like he doesn’t quite recognize the place, despite it being somewhere they’ve spent time periodically since its inception. He looks young, despite his many years, and he’s unsteady on his feet when Joe and Andy help him back onto his chair. He looks at the wood grain, still disoriented. They’re both on edge, waiting for another. When this happened to Booker, he had them one after another, his brain sending out signals that didn’t make sense in the empty space where neurons had once been. But it seems over, at least for now.

“Do you know where you are, Nicky?”

He shakes his head, but still he takes Joe’s hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @transnicolo


End file.
